


A Locked Groove

by whetstone



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetstone/pseuds/whetstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wine, smoking, bad dancing and male bonding. A day in the life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Locked Groove

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 11/2009.

His mouth is shaped with thin “c” curves; the slant of his eyes when he laughs are two perfect n's or maybe horizontal l's, depending. The i's of small, lithe limbs are capped and crowned with muscle and nail and all Seunghyun wants to do is find the endings of the words that make up Jiyong's body, fold his own clumsy arms and legs into congruent rhyme schemes so they can fit together better.

\----------------------------

In his head dance steps always weave and wobble together. His body just doesn't work that way: it stays straight, inflexible in spite of his best efforts to loosen up. In rehearsal, Daesung is in front of him, moving fluidly from step to step, but he’s lost in counting and begins to fall back. It's like everyone else flows right, needles running fluid along the path of a record and he's forever trying to catch them, just one second behind, a 33 rpm single when everyone else is moving to the beat of a 78. When the music stops for the third time, Seunghyun swears he can hear the stylus screech.

“Do it like this, watch my hip.” Seunghyun watches the short body roll with arms crossed, and when the music is put back on he sort of creeps behind Youngbae, squares his shoulders back but stays stiff. Jiyong huffs audibly, eyes boring into him from the mirrored length of wall and he flinches. The choreographer throws up his arms and says it’s good enough as long as Seunghyun stays in the back where no one can see.

\----------------------------

At that night’s performance Seunghyun ignores the more intricate steps and focuses on his voice, spit raining audibly against the mic with each over-enunciation. He suits himself in T.O.P, struts and stomps along the stage, getting right in Jiyong’s face, but it’s shuttered away behind sunglasses and the tight, professional smile he’s worn since he was twelve.

When they get back to the dorms, exhausted, Seunghyun unfurls again, locking himself in the bath where he turns the hot water up high and traces verses into the shower door condensation with one finger. He ignores the first knock on the door but listens to the second, toweling himself down, overlong bangs slicked back over his head Mafia-style. “I’m going, I’m going,” he mumbles around a mouthful of toothbrush.

In his room he listens to something soft and quiet and drinks wine and thinks about what his life would have been like if the first music that caught him was Bob Dylan and not “Big Poppa.” He laughs about this until Seungri knocks on the wall and Jiyong barges in, hair fuzzed over like the electronic records he’s been so fond of lately.

“So I’m sorry about--” He frowns and stops, socked feet wriggling against the cold floor of Seunghyun’s room. His eyes flit from the bottle to the record player and back; Seunghyun watches him chew on the inside of his cheek for a while. The apology dies on his lips and that lowercase “c” is back, creeping up across his face. “Hyung, you’re such a girl.”

He shrugs, settling into the worn, familiar groove of this particular conversation. “You know how I do.” Damien Rice croons behind them as he takes a sip, watching Jiyong fidget a little from the rim of his glass. The younger man’s mouth is still cut into a smile, a few fingers fisted into the eye-numbing colors of his t-shirt.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says, head tilting to one side. “And then you’re going to loan me a cigarette because I know you have more and I’m out.”

Seunghyun tries to speak over another gulp but Jiyong’s already halfway to the bathroom. He rolls the wine around in his mouth a little and swallows, watches the record spin slow as the needle reaches the middle of his turntable, centered.

\----------------------

While the shower runs Seunghyun goes outside for a smoke. He takes a deep drag, letting the nicotine curl in his throat before exhaling into the already smoggy air of the city. His BearBrick keychain clangs against the bench as he sits on it and he catches it instinctively, examining the paint for damage. The keys dangle from his fingers, cigarette stuffed in between his lips before the brightly colored toy is yanked from his hand.

“Cute.” Jiyong settles down beside him, grin stretched from ear to ear, like he knows a secret. “Seriously, like a little girl.” Seunghyun rolls his eyes, makes a grab knowing he’ll miss, a smile tugging at his own mouth. Jiyong takes the opportunity to filch the half-smoked stick and drops the keys into Seunghyun’s palm, taking a long, triumphant drag.

“You could’ve just asked,” Seunghyun says. “I still have half the carton in my room.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jiyong’s hair is limp and wet from his shower. It’s tucked unflatteringly behind his ears and his bangs are parted in the middle and Seunghyun loves seeing him like this, in a holey old hoodie and ugly cargo sweatpants, face shiny from scrubbing off makeup. When he shifts towards him, Seunghyun turns instinctively.

“What?”

“Were you the last one to shower?”

He nods slowly. He didn’t leave the bathroom a mess, at least he didn’t think so; still, he sighs inwardly and prepares himself for a half-joking lecture on cleanliness and hygiene until Jiyong begins to laugh, wrist pressed up against his mouth.

“Hyung, it was you. I knew it.” Seunghyun stares at him uncomprehendingly, swatting at his hand when Jiyong knocks him on the head. “Yah, Bingu. I saw what you did in there. Those lyrics.” More laughter. “ _It’s the YG Family, lift your ass like gravity_.” Jiyong drops the cigarette, holds a free hand up in self-defense. “You wrote it on the shower door! When I turned up the hot water they came back.” Seunghyun’s cheeks are pink even as he prods at his leader, trying to get a hand over his mouth. “ _Girl, I’ll treat you like milk, do nothing but spoil you--_ ”

“You’re past your expiration date,” he grunts, shoving him away and Jiyong’s crawling over him, monkey-like, swiping his cigarette box and huffing his own horrible rhymes into his ear as compensation.

“Don’t tell those to Youngbae, we have to protect the innocent.” The smile lingers on Jiyong’s face but it’s softer now, his movements slow. His head is tucked under Seunghyun’s chin and the wet makes his nose wrinkle but he doesn’t push him off, slings an arm around the groove of his shoulder.

For a while the two of them are silent. Jiyong tries to cajole him into shotgunning the remaining cigarettes, even though it isn’t pot and neither of them would feel much of a high. They try for a little before he begins to cough, scolds Seunghyun about how deep his drags are and how they must be affecting his voice before he settles back down, flips the box top open and closed again. “I didn’t mean to, you know.” His fingers worry at the inside of the cardboard, shredding the foil there into shiny little pieces. “Get mad at you today.”

“I know I suck at dancing.” He watches the ash of Jiyong’s cigarette flutter into the air, sees him fidget and motion him over, cheeks puffed out exaggeratedly. Seunghyun rolls his eyes and leans in. The smoke does nothing but the flash of lip and tongue against his own gets him a little lightheaded. When he pulls away Jiyong’s wearing their small, private smile.

When it’s this late, when it’s just them, Jiyong rambles in a small voice about all the things he has to do, all the ideas he has for their band. His future. Their future. The art he likes and the art he hates. Songs he wishes he wrote. Places he wants to go to and places he never wants to see the inside of again. Seunghyun follows the line of his side with his fingers and listens. He traces the subtle bump of ribs and the softness above his hipbone, goosebumps popping up in his wake. When Jiyong finally trails off, Seunghyun’s mind starts running fast. There are lyrics flowing under his skin; they form a complete song, a good one this time. He dots Jiyong’s eye with a kiss and ushers them both inside.


End file.
